


The Other Shoe Drops

by Thistlerose



Category: Cinderella (1950), Disney Princesses
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, F/M, Missing Scene, Trope Bingo Round 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 07:03:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1419118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cinderella comes down to earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Shoe Drops

**Author's Note:**

> The other week I watched "Cinderella" for the first time in perhaps twenty-five years. Two things struck me. One was how thoroughly charming the movie is. It won't win many feminist points, but it did come out in 1950 and it's still a lovely film. The other was that the prince really, really, really doesn't seem to want to get married. I decided to explore that a little and, before I knew it, I had nearly 5,000 words. How did that happen? Anyway, this is meant to be a bit satirical. Also, I didn't consider the made-for-DVD sequels when I wrote this, since I haven't seen them and don't consider them canon.
> 
> This is also a fill for the "Trust and Vows" square on my Trope Bingo card (round three).

You know how the story goes: not only did Cinderella have the other glass slipper in her pocket, when the Duke slipped it on her foot, it fit as though it had been crafted just for her. (Which, of course, it had.) Within minutes she was on her way to the palace, riding beside the Duke in his lavish carriage, while the only home she'd ever known got smaller and smaller behind her.

The Duke babbled amiably as they rode; she'd saved his life, she'd saved the kingdom, how the king would adore her, how happy the prince would be to see her again, how beautiful she'd looked last night at the ball, just like a fairy princess…

Hands clasped in her lap, lips folded in a smile, Cinderella only half-listened. Her mind kept returning to the last thing her stepmother had whispered to her, as the Duke and his coachman whisked her out the door:

" _If he really loved you, he'd have come himself._ "

A cruel thing to say - which was probably why she'd said it. Lady Tremaine had never cared for her, and never would. But if she could only have brought herself to say something kind, even if it came at the last moment and even if it were as false as a thaw in early March, even then Cinderella would have forgiven her everything and invited her to the palace.

Instead, her stepmother had offered her poison. Just a drop, but it burned in Cinderella's throat as the Duke's white horses bore her inexorably onward, to her new home.

* * * *

The Duke wanted to have her cleaned up before she met the king and the prince, find her a new dress, have something done with her hair. But the king was waiting for her on the palace steps, his arms flung wide to embrace her, his round cheeks glowing.

"There she is, there she is!" he crowed before she was even out of the carriage. "There she is! Oh, let's see her." He brushed aside the coachman and flung the door wide. Reaching past the Duke, he grasped her hands and pulled her toward him. "So this is the maiden who won my son's heart. Let's see her. Well."

He kept looking from her face, which seemed to please him, to her rags, which did not. Cinderella wished that she'd at least had time to wash her hands; she was woefully aware of the dirt beneath her nails and her callused fingertips. Her knuckles were scraped raw from pounding on her bedroom door.

"What's this?" the king said at last. He sounded gruffly amused. "A kitchen maid?"

"So it would seem," the Duke said as he unfolded himself from the carriage. "I found her hidden away in the Tremaine household. Or she found me. In any case, the slipper fit perfectly. She's the girl the prince danced with last night. She's the one. I'd wager my--"

The king shot him a quick, fierce glare, and the Duke's mouth snapped shut. Turning back to Cinderella, the king beamed brightly and proclaimed, "She'll do! She'd better do. Where's my son? Where's the prince? Somebody run and fetch him. Tell him we've found his bride and now--"

"Father, I'm here."

They all turned their heads. At the sight of the prince, Cinderella's heart fluttered like a bird just coming awake. She knew that she was blushing and that her legs were trembling, but she strove to keep her smile firmly in place. It wouldn't do, she thought, to look like a complete idiot; after all, the prince had already held her in his arms. Why, if it hadn't been for the clock striking twelve at just the right moment, he'd have kissed her.

Still.

By the light of the day, the prince seemed even more handsome than he had last night. His shoulders were very broad, his hips quite narrow. His eyes, framed by lustrous black lashes, were a warm tea-brown with flecks of green. His lips looked so soft that suddenly Cinderella was glad that the king still had her hands clasped firmly in his own, for she had a strong desire to reach out and brush them with her fingertips.

"Charming," the prince said when he'd drawn near to them.

"Oh!" Cinderella's blush deepened. After an awkward beat, she managed to find her voice. "Why, thank you, Your Highness."

The king's laughter was explosive, but the prince only smiled. "No, that's my _name_ ," he said, not unkindly.

"Oh!" Now she really felt stupid.

"It's all right," said Prince Charming. "I thought I should introduce myself, since we didn't get the chance last night."

"Too busy getting lost in each other's eyes," the king speculated dreamily.

After a moment, she realized that Charming, the king, and the Duke were all looking at her expectantly, so she drew a deep, fortifying breath and said, "My name is Cinderella."

"Really?" The king's brows pinched together. "An unusual name."

"Oh, it's not my _real_ name," Cinderella explained. "My real name is Ella, but nobody calls me that. You see, after my father died, my stepmother--"

"Forgive me for interrupting, my dear," the Duke cut in, "but am I correct in assuming that Lady Tremaine is the stepmother you mention?"

"Yes," said Cinderella.

The Duke scratched at the bridge of his nose. "Your stepmother," he said slowly, "dresses you in rags while her daughters wear fine things?"

"Yes."

"And has you, her stepdaughter, cleaning her entire manor? - which I must assume, since I saw no other servants."

"Yes."

"And didn't want you trying on the glass slipper."

"Yes."

"Nor wanted you at the ball in the first place, I gather."

"Well, no, she--"

Cinderella saw the Duke, the king, and Prince Charming exchange a look. But before she could guess at what it meant, the king let go of her hands and was pushing her toward his son, saying, "Well, that's all over and done, my dear. Over and done. You've a new life as my daughter-in-law, and I swear, you'll not be mistreated. Put your arm around her, Charming. Never mind the dirt; what else have we got launderers for? Ah, what a sight: my son and his bride! You'll be married tomorrow, of course."

The Duke choked. "T - tomorrow, Your Majesty?"

"TOMORROW!" thundered the king. "If you can stage a royal ball with a day's notice, you can stage a royal wedding!"

Cinderella didn't really know what to think. While she enjoyed the feel of the prince's strong arm around her waist, the thought of getting married when they'd only just met…

Wondering what Charming might be thinking, she stole a glance at him. He was smiling at his father, his teeth perfectly straight and blindingly white in the sun. Still, it seemed to Cinderella that there was something _taut_ about that smile … and her stepmother's words echoed in her memory:

_If he really loved you, he'd have come himself._

* * * *

They turned her over to the palace women who quickly stripped her of her old rags, drew her a hot bath, and, while she soaked in the steaming, perfumed water, went to find her some more appropriate things to wear. They were gone for so long that Cinderella got bored and they returned to find her perched on the edge of the tub with a towel wrapped modestly around her body, looking in bewilderment at her surroundings.

"Everything here is so clean," she murmured as the women guided her to her new temporary apartments. "I have nothing to do."

It was the oddest feeling.

Though she could easily have done it herself, the women insisted on patting her dry and combing her hair. Then they pulled a dress over her head, fastened her buttons, tied her sash, arranged her hair so that her curls fell prettily about her shoulders…

And left her alone.

All alone, with nothing to do.

Such a strange feeling.

She wandered aimlessly about her apartments, looking at things but not touching them. They were, she noted dimly, quite the loveliest set of rooms she'd ever been in; far lovelier and more luxurious than anything in her old home. The floor was of pink marble, and the rugs were as lustrous as real fur - probably _were_ real fur, she thought with some distaste. In the center of the bedroom, there stood a huge four-poster bed, covered in shiny silk: silk canopy, silk curtains, silk pillowcases… She had to turn away.

The rest of the furniture in the bedroom matched the bed. There was a small table with chairs, a dresser, and a wardrobe. The wardrobe doors stood open, revealing a glimpse of some of the other dresses the palace women had gathered for her. On one of the wardrobe doors hung a full-length mirror, and Cinderella found herself staring into it, transfixed by her own reflection.

She'd never seen herself so clearly. Oh, she'd been forever polishing mirrors in her stepmother's house, but until now she'd never paused to study herself; she'd never cared to.

That she was pretty was something she'd always known. Any time a man came by the manor with something to deliver, he'd always stopped and stared. Her looks had been a source of pride for her father, a source of bitter resentment for her stepmother and stepsisters. Her prettiness had never meant very much to her because what good had her it ever done her? She'd sometimes wondered if her stepmother and -sisters would have treated her with more kindness if she'd been plain.

She was more grateful for her voice than for her looks. With her voice, she could sing away some of her sorrows, coax the mice and small birds into trusting her. 

(Where were they now, her little friends? She hoped she'd be allowed to return to the manor to collect them, or that they'd somehow find their way here.)

Despite all the onerous chores she'd been forced to do, she was grateful for her hands and her strong young body. With them, she could cook and mend - a point of pride for _her_ , since it was more than Drizella and Anastasia knew how to do.

But this, Cinderella thought, bringing her hands up to her face and pushing the pads of her fingers against her cheekbones, _this_ was what had finally made her dreams come true. This pretty face.

She frowned at her reflection in the mirror and thought, _Is this what I want? Is this who I am? Help me, Fairy Godmother. I need you._

She waited, but nothing happened, so she spoke the words aloud:

"Help me."

She waited some more, but when the stout white-haired woman in the blue cloak still failed to appear, she gave a little shrug and turned away from the mirror. Hugging her arms to her chest, she walked slowly across the marble floor to the open window and looked out. The first thing she noticed was how high up she was; she'd been in such a daze before, that she'd barely noticed all the stairs as she'd climbed them. The second thing she noticed was how tiny the kingdom below her seemed, how far away. From that incredible height, even the tallest building looked like a toy. 

How many times had she stood at her attic window, gazing across these same rooftops at this palace, which, from that distance, had seemed as ephemeral as white smoke? Why, she'd done it this very morning. Which felt like a hundred years ago.

What time was it, anyway? She couldn't see the clock, though judging by the shadows and the rose-gold light that filled her window, it was late afternoon, crawling on toward evening. 

She'd missed lunch, she realized. And nobody had said a word about dinner. Surely someone would come to fetch her when it was time … or would they? Was she supposed to find her way to the dining hall by herself? It seemed unlikely, and yet… _Was_ she free to move about the palace? If she tried her door, would she find it locked?

She'd just stepped away from the window when a tentative knock startled her. Thinking it must be the women who'd attended her before, she instinctively smoothed down the front of her dress (though there weren't any wrinkles) and ran her fingers through her hair (though every curl lay as it should), before calling, "It's all right, you can come in."

It was the prince.

Once again, Cinderella's heart fluttered; she felt the tiny tremors in her breath and in her blood. She tried to curtsey, but her joints seemed locked in place.

The prince was carrying a covered silver platter, which he brought over to the small table and set down carefully. Pulling out one of the chairs, he smiled and gestured for her to join him. When she hesitated - her feet were so cold she actually thought she might stumble if she tried to walk - he said in a gently coaxing tone, "Are you hungry? Instead of joining my father in the dining hall, I thought we might eat together … and talk. I feel we've a lot of catching up to do; after all, we're to be married tomorrow, and I only just learned your name two hours ago."

At the word _married_ , a jerky gasp escaped her lips. She instinctively raised a hand to cover it up, even though there was no point; of course he'd noticed. She could tell by the way one corner of his smile hitched. But there was no mockery in his green-flecked eyes, or in his voice as he said, "Please come and sit with me, Ella. Or do you prefer Cinderella?"

"I pre - whatever Your Highness prefers." The words tumbled out before she'd had time to think them through.

"No, whatever _you_ prefer. It's your name."

"Oh, then - Cinderella. It's what I'm used to."

"Very well, then. Though you may need to be Ella Tremaine on official documents. Won't you dine with me, Cinderella?"

What else could she do? Anyway, she _was_ hungry. Whatever he'd brought up with him, it smelled delicious.

Later, she would remember taking that first step toward him, and then sinking slowly into the chair he held out for her, but almost everything in between was a blur; she knew that he held her gaze steadily as she crossed to him, and that he hadn't taken his own seat until she was settled. She had to assume she'd managed to put one foot in front of the other.

And then, once they were both seated at the table, the strangest thing in the world happened: the prince served _her!_ She didn't know what else she'd expected, since he hadn't brought any servants with him; perhaps somewhere in the back of her mind she'd imagined that she'd be the one serving him. But no, there he was, Prince Charming himself, using a silver serving fork to pile her plate with slices of baked duck slathered in plum sauce, fresh fruit and vegetables, and rolls that were hard on the outside but soft and steamy when you cracked them open.

They talked while they ate - another strange thing for her, since she usually took her meals alone. Well, there were usually some mice and birds in attendance, but they didn't actually have _conversations._

Charming thought it was funny that she hadn't known his name, or that she'd been dancing with the prince last night.

"Well," said Cinderella, lowering her eyes to the roll she was buttering, "we weren't introduced. Besides, it's not as if I was allowed out very much."

"True. And I haven't been home very often. But still, you didn't see me standing on the dais, greeting everyone?"

"I was too busy trying to figure out where I was supposed to go. I arrived late, after all, and nobody told me anything."

"So, the first stranger who walks up to you and asks you to dance…"

"Well, it was my first ball." She thought for a moment, nibbling uncertainly at her lower lip. Finally she set her knife and roll down and looked at the prince. "I'm sorry to change the topic, but I have to ask - what is to become of my stepmother and stepsisters?"

"What do you mean?"

"Before, when we were all outside, talking, the Duke … he asked me all those questions about my stepmother - about how she'd treated me. The three of you looked at each other… I don't know what the look meant. Please forgive me," she went on, her cheeks suddenly hot, "I don't mean to suggest… It's just - what _will_ happen to them?"

"What would you like to see happen to them?" He said it in a strangely toneless voice, as if he thought the slightest inflection might influence her answer - or give something away.

"Nothing," she said. 

"Nothing?" Now he seemed curious; his black eyebrows lifted slightly.

"Nothing." Cinderella shook her head. "I don't want them to be punished, even though they were unkind." His eyebrows went a little higher, so she said quickly, "I know that that's an understatement. Still, I would be very sad if anything were to happen to them in…" Now that she'd started saying it, she might as well go on, she thought. "In retaliation. I don't know why my stepmother hated me so. I would have loved her if she'd let me." She sighed. "I suppose I'll never know what made her so bitter toward me. But my stepsisters… I can't help but think there's a chance they'll turn out differently. I hope, anyway. I _have_ to have hope."

"Are your stepsisters older or younger than you?"

"Anastasia is my age. Drizella is two years older."

"And how old are you?" he asked gently.

"Nineteen, Your Highness."

"Just nineteen?"

She nodded.

"That's very young," he said, once again without inflection.

"I suppose."

He looked at her, seeming to study her for several minutes. She met his gaze patiently, wondering what he could possibly be thinking. _Am I too young for him? Does he think I'm too naive? Will he think I'm mad when I ask if my mice can live in the palace with us?_ Finally, when she could stand the silence no longer, she said, "So, my stepmother and stepsisters - nothing bad _will_ happen to them?"

He blinked; apparently he'd gotten somewhat lost in thought. "No," he said after a pause. "Not if you don't wish it."

"I don't want them punished," Cinderella said firmly.

"Then they won't be."

"Do you promise?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation. Then - "Cinderella…" He bent toward her and lifted a hand as though he meant to reach for her, but changed his mind at the last moment and awkwardly raked his fingers through his hair instead. "Cinderella," he began again, "I want to talk to you about something. It's quite serious. I want you to trust me, but I also need to know that I can trust you."

"Of course, Your Highness." The half-finished meal in front of her was instantly forgotten.

"You see," he said slowly, "I did come here because I wanted to get to know you better, and because I thought you might want to get to know me. But I also wanted to let you know that you have a choice in all this. It may not seem like you do. Certainly, if you listen to my father you'll think you have no choice. But you _do_ have a choice, Cinderella. I'm giving you one."

"I…" Now she was very confused. Hadn't she already made a choice? She'd gone to the ball; she'd tried on the slipper. True, she hadn't realized she was dancing with the _prince_ , but she'd known why the king had demanded the attendance of every eligible maiden in the land. She felt a cold ripple in her belly; her fingers played nervously with her skirt, where it spilled over her knees.

The prince read her concern and flashed her a brief, reassuring smile. "Listen," he said. "I don't have any brothers or sisters. I've known for a long time that it's my duty to get married and produce an heir. I've put it off for as long as I could, but lately my father has been pressuring me. He's getting old, you see. He wants to be sure that there won't be a problem with the succession after he's gone. He also wants grandchildren." His smile flashed again, but his glance had slid away from her, to the open window. The light had turned a burnished gold, which warmed his cheek and made his eyes appear more green than brown.

"I understand all that," he said after a moment. "I'm not angry with my father. I love the old man. But the thing is, you see, I don't want to be married. I never wanted to be married. It's the reason I stayed away."

 _I see,_ Cinderella wanted to say, but her tongue suddenly felt like paper. It stuck to the roof of her mouth. The cold ripples in her belly spread; she could feel them as high up as her lungs now, and as far down as her knees. She heard her stepmother's voice again:

_If he really loved you, he'd have come himself._

"It's not that I don't care for you," the prince said. "I felt a connection the moment I saw you. I felt it when we danced. But when I told my father I'd marry the girl who fit the slipper - I didn't actually think that he'd send the Duke from house to house, hunting for you. I didn't think he'd actually find you."

She struggled to breathe. He caught her hand and held it, looking at her earnestly. "Now that you're here, you deserve the truth. And a choice. My father wants to see us married tomorrow. For the sake of the kingdom, I _will_ marry you - if you'll have me. And if you'll have me, I promise that I will be a good husband to you. I'll give you a whole kingdom to rule by my side. I'll give you children, and they'll want for nothing. You'll have the finest of everything, whatever you desire. You can travel, if you like. See the lands beyond this tiny kingdom. I've seen much on my travels, and there's much I would like to share with you. I'll demand nothing of you, but only ask that you trust me, and that you be … discreet in my absence. We'll be friends, Cinderella."

His hands were too hot; her body was so cold. She thought she might dissolve before his very eyes, or disappear in a puff of smoke. She wanted to run to her room and hide. She wanted to find her Fairy Godmother and scream in her face, _Did you know that this would happen? When you gave me all those beautiful illusions - the gown, the carriage, the white horses - did you know his love would turn out to be an illusion too?_

Speaking was as difficult as hauling heavy buckets of water up from a deep well. "But you said - you said I have a choice?"

"And you do. You can leave now, if you like. I'll help you escape from the palace. I can give you a cloak and a horse and rations for the road."

"For the road…?" she echoed.

"Yes. You couldn't return to your old home - though I've no idea why you'd even want to. Once he found out that you were missing, my father would begin searching the kingdom. You would have to go far, far away. Change your name. Lie low for a time. But," he went on, tenderly massaging the back of her hand with his thumbs, as if trying to massage some life back into her, "you'd have your freedom. Once my father called off the search, you could go anywhere. You could _be_ anyone. It probably sounds daunting if you've never traveled before, but it could be a wonderful adventure. You wouldn't be bound to anyone or anything."

"But what about you?" she heard herself say.

Prince Charming shrugged. She could tell, even through her daze, that he was trying to make it look casual, but his shoulders were stiff. "I'll marry someone else. Either we'll throw another ball or … I don't know. I must do my duty. But you have a choice."

"If I left," she said, "would I ever see you again?"

"Probably not," he said.

"And my stepmother and stepsisters. Would they still be protected?"

"I would try to keep them safe."

"What would happen if the king _did_ find me? If I couldn't get far enough away in time?"

The prince looked at her solemnly. "I don't know. I would try to protect you, but I don't know. I'm not trying to frighten you, to force your hand. My father's a good man, but he has a temper and he's more powerful than I am. It's your choice, and it's a weighty one, and you haven't got much time to make it."

"How long do I have?"

She knew the answer even before he said it: "Midnight. I'll come by your room at the stroke of twelve. If your light is on, I'll see it through the keyhole and I'll know you've chosen escape - and I'll help you. If your light is off, I'll know you've chosen to stay and we'll be married in the morning." He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed her. Then he stood.

"Wait--" she said, when he was halfway to the door.

He turned to look at her.

What she wanted to ask him was, _Don't you think you could learn to love me? My stepmother and stepsisters couldn't, but you're different. I know it, because I felt that connection too. We recognized something in each other. But am I so unlovable?_

But even as she thought it, she knew: the problem was him, not her. She could tell by the way he was looking at her, by the crushing sadness behind his beautiful eyes. She didn't quite understand it, but she knew.

"By midnight," she said, nodding. "I'll let you know."

"Thank you," he said.

And then he was gone.

* * * *

It wasn't an easy choice, as you can well imagine. Though the prospect of being entirely alone in the world frightened her, once she started fantasizing, it was almost too easy to believe she could enjoy the traveling life. Imagine Cinderella - or whatever pseudonym she came up with - as a singer upon the stage! Or perhaps she could work with animals in some capacity, since they all seemed to trust her. If Jaq and Gus could somehow find their way to her, they could all travel together. And maybe someday, all on her own, she would find romance. Someone to love her.

On the other hand, marriage to the prince meant safety, stability. She'd have a roof over her head, fine clothes to wear, and whatever she wanted to eat. She'd never have to sweep another floor, for as long as she lived. Of course, marriage to the prince would also mean taking on a great deal of responsibility. She'd be a princess, eventually a queen with an entire kingdom to rule over. People to look after. Her people. Some of whom - perhaps many of whom - might come to love her.

It was a difficult choice.

She spent the long hours between sunset and midnight pacing in front of the window, considering everything the prince had said to her, her duty, and all her own dreams. In her mind, two paths lay at her feet, and each one splintered in a thousand different directions. She imagined herself running down each one, and in that brief span of time, she lived a thousand lives she'd never even considered as possibilities before now. Each one glittered like a shiver of glass.

But if you know the story - and just about everyone knows this story - you know what she chose in the end. And, really, when you think about where she came from and how she was brought up, it's hard to blame her. Whether it was the right choice is something perhaps only she will ever know. In any case, Cinderella lived for a long time and had more happy days than unhappy ones. She and Charming gave the king the grandchildren he so desired and Cinderella made sure that, while her children indeed wanted for nothing, still they had to clean their own rooms. In time, she became queen, and more people loved her than did not. And, really, what more can anyone ask for?

4/5/2014


End file.
